Chapter 242
Lucien Duskgrave’s sharp amber eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second.
“This… was made by Mrs. Beck?”
Mrs. Beck shook her head.
“Then it’s from Mia?”
Mia also shook her head.
His brow twitched. “Don’t tell me… it was you, Grandmother?”
The Matriarch smiled at him, her expression full of calm authority.
“I specially ordered takeout for you, Lucien. The reviews for this place are excellent. Come, taste it.”
Lucien fell silent.
Why… suddenly feed him takeout?
Finished
His gaze flicked to Riley’s place setting–porcelain bowl filled with steaming millet porridge and a tender, glistening egg custard–before dropping to his own plate: four oil–slicked, sodium–heavy dishes, each smelling like a greasy punch to the
senses.
He opened his mouth, but the words stayed lodged in his throat. Instead, he lowered his head and began to eat.
And truth be told… the flavor wasn’t bad. Grandmother had been right; the seasoning had bite, and the meat was rich.
Night deepened, and the Mooncrest estate fell into the stillness of the sleeping Pack.
Except for Lucien.
The Alpha Prince was pacing a miserable path between his bed and the bathroom. Six trips later, his usually unshakable expression was pale and stormy, his steps unsteady. He sank onto the mattress, staring into nothing.
That morning–Riley’s noodles. Cilantro. His allergy had flared.
That night–the Matriarch’s carefully chosen takeout. Now he was paying the price, body purging in rebellion.
Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “Grandmother… what in the moon’s name did you feed me?”
Lucien Duskgrave had been raised in the highest standards of the Stormridge Pack–no tainted food, no careless cooking, not a speck of foreign bacteria allowed past his lips. One careless evening, and his gut’s balance had been shattered.
That he wasn’t already dehydrated into a husk was a testament to his Alpha resilience.
By the time the clock ticked past four a.m., he finally collapsed into a brief, exhausted sleep.
It lasted less than three hours.
The shrill ring of his phone carved through the predawn quiet.
He fumbled for it, voice hoarse and edged with fatigue. “What?”
“Alpha,” Duke’s crisp voice came through the line, “the East District project needs your personal attention today. I’ll be there to pick you up shortly.”
“Mm” Lucien exhaled, trying to gather himself.
Duke hesitated. “Alpha.. you don’t sound well.”
I’m fine.” The answer was short, final. He hung up.
He forced himself upright, only for the edges of his vision to darken He breathed through it, jaw tight, and swore silently:
12:54 PM
Chapter 242
Never again. Never touching takeout again.
0
After a brisk wash, he emerged in a fitted black suit, opening his bedroom door-
-and was immediately assaulted by the fresh, unmistakable scent of cilantro.
Danger.
Finished
Downstairs, Riley greeted him with the soft, sweet smile she wore so effortlessly. “You’re up, Mr. Duskgrave? Perfect timing. I made spring noodles. Come, eat.”
His eyes landed on the steaming bowl, and his instincts told him she’d been generous with the portion.
Her smile deepened. “You’re up earlier today, so you don’t have to rush like yesterday. Take your time. If it’s not enough, there’s more in the kitchen.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. He should tell her about his allergy, he knew. But the open, hopeful light in her eyes… it made the words die before they could leave his mouth.
It’s just an allergy. He’d take medicine after.
Even so, his steps toward the table were hesitant.
Just as he sat down, the doorbell rang.
Relief flickered across his gaze. Duke must have arrived early. Perfect–he could take the bowl, hand it off, and not waste Riley’s kindness.
“I’ll get it,” he said.
Riley couldn’t hear the bell, but she read his lips and quickly shook her head. “No, Mr. Duskgrave, you eat. I’ll get the door.”
Lucien stayed seated, gaze fixed on the entryway, waiting for Duke’s tall frame to appear.
The moment he saw who it was, his hopes crashed.
Not Duke. Carmen.
The young she–wolf bounded in like an eager pup, pulling Riley into a tight embrace the instant the door opened. Her voice was full of unrestrained warmth.
“Riley, I missed you so much.”
And then she bent, inhaling deeply at Riley’s neck. “Mmh… you smell amazing.”
Lucien’s golden eyes narrowed, a strange, territorial irritation prickling under his skin.
Riley blinked in surprise. “Carmen, it’s not Sunday. What are you doing here?”
Carmen grinned, pulling back but still close. “No classes this morning, so I thought I’d come see you.”
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